


No Other Fight (Than The One You're Fighting)

by WildKitte



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Jokes, Divorce, Friendship, Getting Back Together, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, Texting, aka usual matsuhana shenanigans, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitte/pseuds/WildKitte
Summary: Sometimes Hanamaki regretted how nonchalant their farewell had been after graduation – a quick wave at the train station, a promise to text. He wondered, after, if there should’ve been more.Four years passed swiftly, and Mattsun didn’t come home.And four years later, there was a knock.*Mattsun and Makki, and the art of getting back together.





	1. Part I - On My Journey (To You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tookumade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/gifts).



> HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY SAN!!!!!! Like _very_ late birthday - but! I made it! This year even!  
> I hope you'll enjoy this and my attempt at writing matsuhana that was supposed to be a short ficlet and then... grew.
> 
> As usual, thanks to my best friend for giving me wonderful feedback and kicking my ass, and also Ola who kindly pointed out mistakes.  
> And honestly, the hero of this story is Carole. Thank you for being there with me, thank you for helping me, this fic wouldn't be without you, it wouldn't be what it is without your help and I am eternally thankful. Let's try to get the rest of this done.
> 
> Title is from a finnish song called [Kuka sulkee sun silmät](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LS67e52IzzY)  
> (Who Closes Your Eyes) by Pariisin Kevät and all the chapter titles from songs on the same album
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

Sometimes Hanamaki regretted how nonchalant their farewell had been after graduation – a quick wave at the train station, a promise to text. He wondered, after, if there should’ve been more.

Sometimes his arms ached for a last hug, but Mattsun and him didn’t hug much. Maybe they should have.

They had thought keeping contact would’ve been as effortless as in high school – perhaps that was why their last goodbye was like that, impersonal and distant. Of course they would see again, of course it would be like it had been.

 

Four years passed swiftly, and Mattsun didn’t come home.

 

*

 

Four years later, there was a knock.

” Hi,” Mattsun said, with a sheepish smile and dripping water on Hanamaki’s threshold. ”I don’t have anywhere to go.”

It was as if Hanamaki had forgotten how to blink.

” Can I come in? Just for a moment, I promise,” Matsukawa asked. ”I’m kinda cold here.”

Hanamaki stepped aside, waving him in.

” I’ll bring you slippers,” he said and slipped away with as much dignity as possible, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t escaping (he was,  _ he was, Mattsun was here _ , he was here and it was--). 

 

” Sorry,” Mattsun said, drying his hair with a towel. Hanamaki just shook his head and settled a cup of green tea in front of him.

” It’s fine.” He sat opposite Mattsun and allowed himself to look, up and down, take in the changes. Mattsun had grown into himself, mature and handsome in a way his high school awkward self could not compare. He had been handsome before but now--

” You look all grown up.”

” We’re technically adults now,” Mattsun said, and then grimaced as he burned his tongue.

” Hm,” Hanamaki rested his chin on his hands. ”I guess so.”

 

It was still pouring outside. The rain was rattling against the windows, and the clock on the kitchen wall was too loud and four years stretched into a heavy silence between them.

” So,” Mattsun’s voice was light, strained. ”Oikawa made it into the national team.”

” Is this really what we’re going to talk about now?” His tone was maybe a tad snappier than necessary. Matsukawa bit the inside of his cheek.

” What do you want to talk about, then?”

His expression was so hard to interpret, and it hurt Hanamaki in some deep way – that this face once so dear had become so strange to him.

” I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. ”You’re here. It’s been four years.”

” I--”

” Four years. Not a single word from you, Issei. I don’t know what to think right now, okay? I had to hear about your engagement from Iwaizumi.” Mattsun held his gaze steadily. It was annoying. ”Congratulations, by the way.”

Mattsun blinked slowly.

” So you keep contact with Iwaizumi, still?”

” Oh for fuck’s sake!” Hanamaki slammed his palms on the table and stood up. His hands were sweating. The apartment felt cold.

” Sorry,” Mattsun said. At least he sounded apologetic.

Hanamaki didn’t look at him, just nodded as an acknowledgement.

” I’ll make a bed for you. Eat whatever you can find from the fridge.”

He left Mattsun in the kitchen, the clock still ticking loud on the wall, amplified by the silence.

 

*

 

 

Mattsun was his first kiss, at the end of summer break in their third year.

The heat had been oppressing, humidity clinging to his skin, sweat running down his spine, but Matsukawa’s lips had been cool from the popsicle, a stickiness that stuck on Hanamaki’s mouth. Mattsun’s hands had been shaking on his shoulders and Hanamaki couldn’t really tell if it was the summer taking his breath away, or if it was Mattsun pushing him down on the bed of grass in Mattsun’s backyard. He didn’t mind; it was fine; he felt sluggish, and tired, and full of syrupy, soft happiness.

 

 

*

 

” Bath is free,” Hanamaki said. ”The futon is ready in my room.”

” Thanks.”

” What are you going to do tomorrow?”

Hanamaki didn’t want to ask why Mattsun was here. It was clear from his bare ring finger and messy appearance. ( _But why here, why me, when it’s been like this so long, didn’t you just –_ )

Mattsun was sprawled on the table, resting his chin on his stretched arm. His slouch looked so effortless, like posing for a camera, except the camera was Hanamaki and he didn’t need to be impressed by Mattsun’s looks, not anymore.

It was charming, in a way. It didn’t diminish his annoyance at all.

” I don’t know.”

Hanamaki sighed. ”I figured you’d say that.”

” I was kind of dumped out of the blue.” He sounded genuinely sad, his eyes without spark – it was as if his false cheer had simply melted away, revealing his true face underneath.

” I’m sorry to hear that.” Hanamaki tried not to sound sarcastic – that wasn’t what this was, this rough and uneven lump in his throat.

” It was a long time coming.”

” Is this where you say that you couldn’t replace me?”

 

Mattsun closed his eyes, and smiled softly – a broken, pitiful expression that didn’t fit him.

” Takahiro, please.”

” I’m not trying to be difficult,” Hanamaki said, lying, ”I’m confused, Issei.”

Matsukawa opened his mouth.

” Don’t apologise.”

He snapped it shut.

 

” Look,” Hanamaki said, dragging a hand across his face. ”Stay the night. You can stay in the morning, we can talk, or you can leave. Just...” He took a breath, steeled himself. ”Just don’t come back, if you do. Okay?”

Mattsun was still quiet. There was a miniscule nod. Hanamaki deemed it good enough.

” Good. The bath is waiting. There is a towel--”

” On the laundry basket. I know.”

_ You don’t _ , but Hanamaki let it slide. It wasn’t Mattsun’s fault that one of them refused to move on.

 

*

 

Last time he was left on ”read” was  _ How are you? It’s been a while. _

At first it didn’t register as betrayal, or anything. Worry, thin layer of annoyance, but  _ understandable, he is busy _ .

After three weeks he stopped waiting for an answer and wondered if this was how their friendship ( _ friendship, or perhaps-- _ ) ended. Not even a whimper, just peacefully passing in its sleep, tired.  _ This happens _ , he had tried telling himself. High school doesn’t last forever; sometimes you’re just friends because you see each other every day and once it ends, there’s nothing else.

(But wasn’t there, weren’t there touches and looks or was it  _ just another thing I made up by myself, maybe I remembered it wrong, but what about blue ice cream and  _ –)

 

” Mattsun’s getting engaged,” Iwaizumi said one evening, a year later, and Hanamaki dropped his glass.

It shattered on the floor, into ridiculously tiny pieces, and Iwaizumi yelled at him for trying to gather them with his bare hands,  _ you’re going to cut yourself you moron _ , and it was such a clichéd metaphor that Hanamaki had to laugh, even if it was strained, and tired.

Iwaizumi kept him company that night, they lazed on Iwaizumi’s couch, Hanamaki’s head on his lap, his fingers carding Hanamaki’s hair as he texted Oikawa furiously.

_Pling, pling,_ incoming messages flooding in, the phone was so loud, drowning out the movie playing idly on TV, and Hanamaki could only shut his eyes, to stop staring at the silent phone on other side of the room.

 

*

 

” I don’t really have a good excuse.”

The rain didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. Hanamaki wanted to blame the noise for his sleeplessness, but really it was Mattsun’s quiet breathing as he lied on the futon on the floor.

Hanamaki closed his eyes, rubbing them with his knuckles.

” You idiot.” His hands were shaking, traitors.

” I should’ve called. I was scared.”

” That I’d judge you?”

” Not… really,” Mattsun said quietly.

The rain continued rattling the windows.

” I’m really mad at you, you know,” Hanamaki said. ”This is… this is not like you. To drop a friend like this. To drop  _ me _ like this.” He sniffed, defiant. “Well, at least I thought so. What do I know.” 

” I’m sorry.”

” I’m getting tired of you saying that,” Hanamaki couldn’t help but laugh a little. He turned to look at Mattsun, who was already looking at him, eyes vulnerable and a little soft. Hanamaki lifted his blanket in invitation and Mattsun climbed next to him.

 

They stared at each other in silence, hands almost touching but not quite. Mattsun looked like he was about to say something, but Hanamaki shook his head.

” Just sleep.”

Morning would come.

 

The morning did come.

The sun slithered in through the cracks in the curtains, directly in Hanamaki’s eyes and he groaned, slinging an arm over his face. He turned away from the light, and then stilled.

The other side of the bed was empty.

He stretched his hand to feel the sheets – they were still lukewarm, wrinkled. The buzzing in his ears was heavy, and he swallowed. Smiling, he turned on his back and closed his eyes.  _ Okay _ , he thought,  _ this is okay. It is over. This is fine. _

Mattsun’s head popped from behind the door as he knocked softly.

” I made breakfast.”

Hanamaki’s smile stretched wider.

_ You fucker _ .

 

*

 

Oikawa Tooru was, of course, completely unavoidable to notice and even more unavoidable to befriend – he was charming, and annoying in a charismatic way, and he was a brilliant setter and overall a really fun guy, even if the third years would pretend otherwise for shits and giggles.

It was equally unavoidable for him to gather friends around him, even if none were as close as Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa met Hanamaki purely by association, even before they both registered for the volleyball club.

So in a way, Matsukawa should’ve known Oikawa was unavoidable after graduating, too.

 

Oikawa waited for him in a busy cafe, in the corner table near the window. He had already ordered a coffee for himself, and there was a cup on the other side of the table, clearly waiting for Matsukawa. Matsukawa wondered if Oikawa knew he drank his coffee black these days.

Probably not.

The moment Oikawa saw him, his face got more open, and Matsukawa couldn’t tell if it made him feel better or worse. He walked over, and sat down with a weak nod as a greeting.

” Nice to see you again,” Oikawa said, and Matsukawa nodded again, uncertain as to what to say. At the lack of response, Oikawa blinked, and then scoffed a little, a sad and soft huff.

 

” As glad as I am to see you,” he said and leaned back, draping his arm over the backrest of the comfy armchair with elegance, ”I kind of feel like slapping you right now.”

A silence.

” For Takahiro.”

Mattsun sipped his coffee – with milk – and blinked slowly. ”That’s fair enough.”

Oikawa cocked his head to the side and then sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaving it tousled.

” I didn’t know you weren’t keeping contact with Makki.”

” I… didn’t know you didn’t know.”

” I’m pretty mad at you, you know? That was shitty of you.”

” You sound like Iwaizumi.”

” Yeah. He’s my best friend. We talk a lot.”

The silence spoke volumes.

 

It had actually been almost two years since Matsukawa saw Oikawa last time, too. He’d met him by accident in Tokyo, they had literally bumped to each other in Shibuya Crossing, the clichest of cliche places to meet at. Oikawa had pestered him to give his number to him, and Oikawa, as usual, had been impossible to resist, and even more impossible to turn down once he set his mind to it. Matsukawa had responded to some of his messages, but not much else. It felt heavy, to be reminded of home in such a visceral, powerful way.

 

” You know,” Oikawa tapped the backrest with his long fingers, seeming nonchalant. ”I think you’re a coward. I really can’t think of any other explanation for this.” He side-eyed Matsukawa and it felt as invasive as it always did, maybe even more pronounced  _ now _ than ever before. ”But I want to understand. For Makki.”

Matsukawa was quiet – he found himself tongue-tied a lot, these days. Even if he could’ve sorted out the dizzy, anxious buzz inside his brain, he didn’t know if the lead on his tongue would let him speak, explain, seek answers.

 

” I had to get out. Leave it all.”

Oikawa frowned. ”I know that. But us too?”  _ Him too? _ was unvoiced, but clear as a bell.

” I don’t know. No. Yes.”

” That’s not an answer, Mattsun,” Oikawa said. He bit his lip and looked him deep in the eye, and Matsukawa knew it was coming, and he didn’t want to hear it. ”Look, I know it was difficult after your mother...”

” Please don’t,” Matsukawa said, quietly but with the kind of authority that comes with grief.

” Left,” Oikawa finished the sentence anyway.

The white noise of the café suddenly grew tangible and loud between them.

” Yeah. Left.”

” So you had to go too.”

” Would you have stayed?”

And perhaps he was pathetic, perhaps he was in the wrong – but Oikawa’s eyes were filled with empathy, not pity like he had feared, and he simply said:

” You have to talk with him, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa just nodded, and tried to get used to the taste again.

 

*

 

_ Iwaizumi: you know you don’t have to let him back to your life right [22.25] _

Hanamaki: i guess [23.10]

_ Iwaizumi: just don’t hurt yourself in the process [23.15] _

_ Iwaizumi: he can stay with me if it gets too much [23.15] _

 

_ ~read 00.14 _

 

_ Iwaizumi: don’t leave me on read you ass [6.45] _

 

*

 

The second time Hanamaki woke up wrapped up in Matsukawa’s arms, he decided that it was enough.

 

” Let’s set some rules, okay?” he said over breakfast – omuraisu, salad and coffee – and Mattsun looked up at him, alarm clear in his eyes.  _ Damn right _ , Hanamaki thought, and bit it back.

” Do you… want me to leave?”

Hanamaki hated how vulnerable he sounded, pity and empathy filling his chest.

” Nah,” he said. ”Don’t look like that, ok?”

He gathered himself a little.

 

”Let’s start out as friends,” Hanamaki said, his tone light but face betraying his anger. ”That’s what we’re good at, best friends, right?”

Mattsun nodded, looking away.

It disturbed how easy it was to hurt him these days – it didn’t used to be like that. Then again, he wasn’t this angry back in the day, nor Mattsun this stranger he had become.

” Sorry,” Hanamaki said after a moment of silence – he was so good at bitterness these days, what the hell was wrong with him? He stretched his arms across the table. ”Should we start with memories? Wanna visit some old places?”

” Are there still old places?” Mattsun’s smile was playful.

” We’ll see.”

  
  


Aoba Johsai was, of course, where they had left it.

” They’ve renovated the gym a little,” Hanamaki explained. ”Fixed that unruly ventilation system.”

” I’m so jealous.”

” I know right.”

” Would’ve been nice during the summer,” Mattsun chuckled and Hanamaki moaned.

” Please don’t remind me! I thought I was going to die!”

” Didn’t Oikawa faint?”

” Oh yeah,” Hanamaki tapped his chin, gazing at the blue skies. ”It was kind of scary. Coach and Iwaizumi got really mad.”

 

The approaching autumn made air heavy and laced with chill. Crisp autumn days were yet to come – this was merely a transition phase. The cicadas got quieter, as did wind chimes. They stood outside the gym, taking in the familiarity and the changes, and Hanamaki couldn’t tell which one was more difficult.

He had been here, of course, for his little sister’s graduation a year ago. He’d done his best to avoid the gym, but ended up spending the night at Iwaizumi’s place, the distant longing in his heart growing stronger as the memories enveloped his brain in white fuzz.

Matsukawa had really put him through a lot of trouble, hadn’t he.

 

And in the middle of it all hung the question:  _ why did you leave me? _

Hanamaki glanced at Mattsun, studying his features – the slight stubble looked charming on him, and a surge of  _ want _ rushed over him.

He felt like crying a little. The past just wouldn’t let him go. It was cruel, and ruthless, his heart constantly reminding him of what was lost, and he was scared. He was so scared, and still, it was there, tight and unrelenting in his gut - want.

So he lay his gaze to the ground. Better to deny.

 

” Where next?” Matsukawa asked after the silence stretched to an uncomfortable degree.

” Park? Where we used to play?”

” Should we call Oikawa and Iwaizumi?”

” Do  _ you _ still play?”

Mattsun gave him a lopsided smile – he really didn’t have the right to look so handsome, not now.

” Sometimes.”

” Great. Then I’m calling dibs on Oikawa.”

” You… You can’t just call dibs on the professional!”

” Just did,” Hanamaki grinned and grabbed his phone. ”It’s not like Iwaizumi is out of shape either.”

” He’s not in the Olympic team.”

” Sucks to be you, then.”

  
  


An hour later the freshly cleaned up volleyball court was messed up, sand all over its borders, soaking in the sweat of three very tired and one not that tired adult men.

Hanamaki panted on the ground, slowly melting into the sand. Oikawa laughed with an ugly snort and spinned the volleyball in his fingertips.

” Have mercy already,” Iwaizumi heaved, red in the face, and Oikawa grinned.

” I do love you seeing you looking up at me like that. Sexy.”

Iwaizumi reddened even more and threw sand at him.

” Is Mattsun alive?” he asked, ignoring Oikawa’s shriek.

Mattsun gave him a trembling thumbs-up.

” Food?” Oikawa inquired.

” You’re paying.”

” Ack, Iwa-chan!”

 

*

 

” I’m going to the bathroom,” Iwaizumi said at the end of their meal. Mattsun rose up with him.

” Me too,” he said and they left Hanamaki alone with Oikawa.

Oikawa poked at his rice, acting nonchalant.

” Spit it out.”

Oikawa smiled at his meal and then put the chopsticks aside.

” How has it been? With him?”

” He cuddles me during the night and it’s unbearable.”

Oikawa grimaced.

” Have you told him not to?”

” I did, this morning,” Hanamaki tapped his fingers against the table. ”Though I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. I guess he’s used to cuddling up to his… ex-fiancée.”

There it was. The ache, betrayal.

” I’m being so mean to him, and I hate it – but it just slips, I get so  _ angry _ when I remember...”

” How he ghosted you.”

Oikawa had this infuriating habit of dropping truth bombs at the most inconvenient of times. Oikawa leaned back and hummed.

” I think you’re completely entitled to the feeling. If I’m not wrong, I believe Iwaizumi is currently giving Mattsun a lecture in the restroom.” Hanamaki wrinkled his nose; he had feared as much. ”So I guess I should lecture you too.”

Hanamaki’s brows rose up. ”Why?”

” If I can be honest,” and surely Oikawa was going to be, it wasn’t as if Hanamaki could stop him, ”I believe you should throw him out. Sort out his shit alone and bother you once he stops being a coward.”

Technically he was right. But…

” I’m just so happy to see him again,” Hanamaki said quietly. It was too much – he buried his head in his hands. ”Even though I’m angry, I’m so bitter and angry, I’m also… happy, in some dumb –”

” Masochistic?” Oikawa offered.

”…  Masochistic way.” Oikawa’s smile was annoying.

” First loves are like that.”

” Yeah, you should know.”

Oikawa gave him a sharp look. ”And  _ that _ is none of your business.”

” What is not his business?” Iwaizumi asked, and both of them jumped.

” Nothing,” Oikawa said as Hanamaki blurted: ”The alien he hides in his attic.”

 

Iwaizumi frowned.

” But I thought Takeru doesn’t live with you?” he said pointedly to Oikawa, his face completely serious.

Oikawa’s laughter was infectious, and Mattsun was rightfully confused as he finally came back to their table.

 

*

 

Matsukawa watched him sleep.

It was probably a little creepy – but it was the only time when Hanamaki wasn’t looking back. It was his fault, the anger boiling and erupting from Hanamaki at the slightest misstep. That was okay, that he could handle. Hanamaki was well within his rights to be angry, to take it out on him, to let it out. It was part of the process, no matter how much it hurt right now.

What really made him suffer on the inside were Makki’s smiles, his free laughter and the shine in his eyes, just like back then – and then it was as if he caught himself off guard, and the light dimmed.

 

After his parents’ divorce, all he craved was distance, and normality.

Normal life, normal family. He hated the pitying gazes people cast at his father –  _ his wife left him, did you hear, for another man apparently, the son too, wonder if she has a new family with that man, was there something wrong with his husband, she was always a little odd. _ He occasionally heard from his mother – postcards, calls once or twice a month. He had a half-brother now, two years old and quite adorable, though he didn’t see him often.

So when his father caught him with Makki, his lips still red from succumbing in Hanamaki’s kisses, there was nothing to say.

Just a silent plea from his father:  _ please, be normal, don’t be like her _ .

 

It wasn’t good enough a reason. It wasn’t enough to excuse four years of silence. But it was a starting point to begin unraveling the mess he had created.

 

*

 

” You know, I don’t even know what you do,” Hanamaki said suddenly as they were having dinner (grilled fish and rice, miso soup, like mother used to make – Matsukawa had these little things that reminded him of her, of better times, when everything wasn’t broken). ”What did you major in?”

” Business.”

Hanamaki blinked.

” Oh god. You’re boring.”

Matsukawa couldn’t help it – he laughed. ”I should’ve known you’d say that.”

” No, I’m totally serious,” Hanamaki said, his expression owlish and mock-serious. ”Is this what heterosexuality does to people?”

” Takahiro, please.”

Hanamaki’s smile was filled with mirth, not entirely good-willed.

” I’m working in an accounting firm.”

Hanamaki clutched his chest, and breathed out a scandalized:

” No! Not you, of all people!”

” I like math,” Matsukawa said sheepishly, knowing it wouldn’t really salvage the situation (and it didn’t, as Hanamaki pretended to faint in shock).

” Since when?”

” Since university.”

Hanamaki scoffed. ”Like I would know that.”

Matsukawa grinned. ”Now you do.”

” Now I do.”

 

” I’m a hair dresser, by the way.”

Matsukawa looked up, surprised, mid-chew. He swallowed quickly, and asked:

” Really?”

” Yeah. I mean I started out with sciences but it was boring. I wanted to do something more concrete.”

There was a pause.

” Does that mean –”

” Issei, I am begging you, let me cut your hair, I don’t know who did that to you but it’s a crime.”

Matsukawa pretended to pout. ”I think it suits me.”

Hanamaki sprawled on the chair, chopsticks hanging loosely from his fingers as he sighed with the kind of melodrama that could only be achieved with years of interacting with Oikawa Tooru.

” Where has my fashionable friend gone,” he lamented at the ceiling, and there it was again – laughter bubbling up in Matsukawa’s chest; it was so easy to forget the separation of four years, to fall back into what it had been.

 

And yet, he had to remind himself that it wasn’t like before.

Lest he forget what he still had to do.

 

” If you really want to, you can.”

” Huh?” Hanamaki sat up straight, like he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. ”Really?”

Matsukawa nodded, and a mischievous smile climbed on his face. ”If you really do hate it so much.”

” _ Really _ really?”

” Can you please spare my wounded pride a little and not look so eager.”

 

In the end, Matsukawa really did love Hanamaki’s laugh.

  
  


Hanamaki brushed his hair with gentle strokes, fingers certain but light as they occasionally brushed his skin, shell of his ear. Electric – the touches were a tease, probably not intentional, but electrifying nonetheless. Hanamaki’s gaze was serene, concentrating to untangling Matsukawa’s unruly curls, calculating like they got during games at times.

Matsukawa hadn’t been the object of Hanamaki’s scrutiny in a long time. He had almost forgotten what it was like.

 

In his memories, third year of high school was filled with nervous butterflies.

His crush had developed over the summer, sweating in the gym and then sweating outside in the merciless hot temperatures. Training camp had been heavy with expectations and the sweltering heat – and yet, his head had felt light, because when he looked at Hanamaki everything started spinning a little.

It was so frustratingly easy to fall for him – his laugh and sly sense of humor, kind of a deadpan delivery followed by a mirthy grin at Oikawa’s nettled pout and then finally roaring laughter. And occasionally, as he was still recovering from his laughing fit, he would look at Matsukawa and smile, the remnants of laughter sitting in the corner of his mouth and Matsukawa would be overcome with a  _ need _ to chase it with his lips. Instead he grinned back, hoping his blush would be mistaken for exertion or a sunburn.

Matsukawa was good at pretending nonchalance, boredom and everything in-between. It was a bit of a defense mechanism when he became overwhelmed or embarrassed. He had the reputation of a cool, collected guy, if a bit aloof when with his best friends, and he could recognise some truth in that. But it was easier to hide behind a cool mask when dealing with something as nerve-wracking as a crush on your best friend – so when Hanamaki confessed to him, hands and knees shaking, Matsukawa felt himself slide into the smooth role. His shaking fingers gave him away, probably.

He found out, as time passed, that it was what happened when you kissed Hanamaki, no matter how familiar it became.

Even afterwards, at summer, he would suddenly stop in the middle of grocery shopping, and the sight of those blue popsicles would take his breath away – and then, a blink, it almost passed, murky waters in his guts calming from a whirlpool of emotions to a deceitful calm, and he would smile at Misaki.  _ It’s nothing _ .

It’s nothing. 

 

” Hmm,” Hanamaki hummed and tapped his chin. ”I want to give you an undercut.”

The bathroom was still humid after Matsukawa’s shower – apparently the ventilation didn’t work quite ideally, and sweat was gathering on his upper lip, as well as his temples. He sat on a high stool in front of the sink and the mirror. Hanamaki met his eyes in the mirror and smiled.

” It seems to be all the rage now.”

” I’m almost certain it would look good on you.”

Matsukawa frowned.

” Don’t say things like ’almost certain’ when you’re about to restyle my hair.”

Hanamaki chuckled and grabbed a pair of scissors and a hair clipper, snapping the scissors with sadistic glee.

_ Ah _ , Matsukawa thought,  _ this is how it ends _ .

 

The buzzing of the clippers was calming, and Hanamaki worked in silence. As he held Matsukawa’s head in place, his fingers would occasionally slide through his hair, almost as if petting him; it sent shivers down Matsukawa’s spine. He was so careful, his hands were soft as they brushed the side of Matsukawa’s face in passing, and it burned in Matsukawa’s guts, the closeness, the familiarity of it all – and it felt incomprehensible now, in retrospect, that Matsukawa could ever have let this go.

 

The things you did for pride and honour were often foolish – one’s biggest fears usually never mattered in the end, in the long run it was all menial. All that valuing pride over everything did was isolate one from their peers and dreams, sometimes permanently.

Hindsight was the greatest wisdom of all, Matsukawa had discovered, and you could let it consume you with bitterness and regret, or you could learn from it. The former was easy. The latter meant swallowing your pride, and presenting yourself vulnerable in front of everyone. It was hard to accept humiliation, but it was something that had to be done in order to right former wrongs. It was hard to face the hurt you had inflicted on others, and beg for a second chance.

 

” I feel like I’m shearing a lamb.”

” I… cannot tell if that’s a compliment.”

Hanamaki furrowed his brows.

” Me neither.”

Matsukawa watched his face in the mirror, and suppressed a shiver as Hanamaki’s fingertips brushed the shell of his ear again.

 

*

 

Mattsun really had no business looking this good with an undercut.

Matsukawa kept rubbing the back of his head – Hanamaki knew how tempting it was, to run one’s hands over the smooth, clipped hair.

He reached out his hand… and then pulled it back.

He’d had enough when clipping it. There was no need to indulge himself further.

The protective cape Hanamaki had wrapped Mattsun in looked hilarious, and he kind of wanted Mattsun to keep it on, just for shits and giggles, but like a good person he took it off, dusting the hairs on it on the floor as he’d mop it later.

” Watch out, there’s hair everywhere,” he said. Mattsun didn’t seem to hear him, he was transfixed on his reflection and kept turning his head to look at his hair from different angles – and every now and then ran his hand over the shaved part.

 

” Do you like it?” he asked, and hated how uncertain his voice sounded to his own ears. Matsukawa turned back to him and smiled wide.

” It looks amazing. Thank you.”

_ I hate you _ , Hanamaki thought weakly, and smiled back as his chest filled with warmth, again, as it always did.

So he indulged himself, one last time – he reached out to Mattsun and cupped the back of his head, running his thumb where the longer strands of hair cut right into the shaved part.

He hadn’t meant it to be gentle. It was supposed to be like scratching an itch, like finally getting to pet a cat that usually bit you, but instead it was… just pleasant, just soft and delicate, and as Mattsun leaned into his touch, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at him, as he smiled that relaxed smile of his that Hanamaki had once loved so much, Hanamaki couldn’t help but hate himself a little more.

” It does look great.”

 

*

 

Matsukawa was on an extended leave from work – free days had built up and he could afford a longer holiday before going back.

” Or then I’ll quit,” he said with a shrug, and the implications of it made Hanamaki’s gut churn.

 

Mattsun hadn’t specified how long he was going to be staying. Hanamaki didn’t know if he had contacted his parents that he was back in Miyagi (or if Matsukawa even kept contact with them anymore – he wondered if Matsukawa had disappeared from their lives as well).

(He wanted answers, but didn’t want to ask, almost out of spite, mainly out of fear).

Matsukawa had a luggage of clothes and personal hygiene, but that was it, really. Phone, charger. Only the essentials. Hadn’t he and his ex lived together? Surely there was more – or maybe the breakup had been ugly, and he wasn’t allowed in any more.

Hanamaki could relate.

 

He’d tried – dating, that is.

After a while it had been clear that he wasn’t up for it – he was too emotionally busy pining after Matsukawa and rolling in his own hurt; it wasn’t a good place to let anyone else in. So he got his sex elsewhere when he needed it, and satisfied his emotional needs with spending time with Oikawa, Iwaizumi and his friends from university (even if they never quite compared to the  _ ease _ that he felt around Oikawa and Iwaizumi – and Mattsun, but then it was already too late).

It annoyed him how hard it was to let go of it. Maybe all first loves were like that, but he had no one to ask – Iwaizumi and Oikawa too wrapped up in each other like galaxies about to merge, pulling in stars with mesmerizing and deceptive slowness, only a matter of time when the gravity got stronger and faster, pulling them into one spinning circle of light.

 

But he was here, now, Matsukawa.

As he woke up in the mornings to the pitter-patter of rain against the window, for a moment he forgot – where he was,  _ when _ he was – and as he turned to the warmth next to him, to Matsukawa sleeping right there with his face devoid of the ever-present guilt and sadness, and it felt so  _ right _ . Like nothing had, in quite some time, before now.

 

Like summer. Blue popsicles.

And then the chill of autumn would bring him back to reality.

 

Hanamaki wanted it to be normal again. He wanted to laugh with Matsukawa, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to be able to touch him without the sharp spike of anger and pain, he wanted to be able to talk, normally, without needing to hold his tongue, bite back pins and needles. Beneath his anger, beneath the betrayal, was fear – fear of losing Mattsun again, this time for good, and even if it meant swallowing his pride and letting him back in, being vulnerable with no guarantee that he wouldn’t be hurt again, then so be it.

 

He watched Matsukawa’s chest rising up and down, deep in slumber, the adorable twitch of his nose, and even if the chill creeped underneath his thin blanket, even if the rain seemed to be neverending, even if the coldness was here to settle in and burrow in his bones, he would allow himself this.

 

And tomorrow, tomorrow he would certainly start closing the distance, and finally cross the rift.

 


	2. And So The Light Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He and Matsukawa had took to texting recently.  
> ”You need to text me,” Hanamaki had said. ”Not daily but just… please respond to my messages.”  
> Mattsun had just nodded, and Hanamaki didn’t want to push. The peace between them was still fragile, the hurt still sore and fresh in mind.  
> Standing at the station, waiting for the train, Hanamaki’s arms ached again.  
> They parted with a shy wave, and a smile, more careful this time.
> 
> When Matsukawa texted him from the train (”Have i mentioned how much i hate teenagers these days”), it was suddenly easier to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO.  
> This took longer than anticipated, mainly because I planned to finish the entire fic before publishing ch2 and then got stuck AND then my laptop broke - you know how it goes.  
> This chapter has a scene that ended up being very personal to me. I am sure you can figure out which one it is so... be kind, please! I hope I was able to convey the right emotions in the scene and provide enough context for certain characters' decisions.
> 
> Massive thank you to Carole who helped me through my slump and convinced me that this fic isn't a lost cause, giving me courage to continue. Thanks to everyone else who has kept supporting me.  
> Happy birthday to me :3c
> 
> Title chapter (translated) from [Vielä vähän matkaa tähtiin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKDfFtwriBg) by Pariisin Kevät

 

Oikawa had come back to Miyagi to play and instruct at practice at Aoba Jousai because the school had begged him to and Oikawa still had a soft spot for his alma mater – especially in the sense that he had  _ not _ gone to Shiratorizawa, thank you very much.

The fact that he and Ushijima now played in the same team did nothing to diminish his school pride.

 

Iwaizumi was waiting for him at the gate, a nostalgic and familiar scene. Hanamaki waved at him and Iwaizumi raised his head from his phone and grinned.

”Hi,” he said as they started walking towards the gym. ”Ready to make fun of Oikawa in front of high schoolers?”

”I think we’re going to be the ones humiliated if Irihata-sensei makes us play too,” Hanamaki cringed, adjusting his sports bag. Iwaizumi chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

They stopped right outside the gym, the squeaking of sneakers and volleyballs slamming to the court greeting them like the past incarnate.

”Where’s Mattsun?” Iwaizumi asked, not looking at Hanamaki.

”Back in Tokyo. Work stuff.”

”Alright,” was all Iwaizumi said, and then stepped in the gym. Hanamaki sighed, and followed him in. He didn’t want to argue with Iwaizumi – not today.

 

Coach Irihata did, in fact, order them to join the practice, if mainly as instructors to the star-struck students. Oikawa dazzled them with his killer serves, even deadlier than in high school and even university.

”Show-off,” Iwaizumi said, but he looked proud, and Hanamaki could feel pride swelling in his chest as well.

”And that’s how you serve,” Coach Irihata said, puffing his chest and Oikawa’s smile was beaming.

  
After practice each of them gave pointers to the students, who listened with rapt attention (”Why were you never like this when I was captain?” ”Because you never said anything smart.” ”Makki!”). Hanamaki didn’t regret not continuing volleyball, at least seriously, but moments like this made him thankful for his time with the sport.

The sport itself had been fulfilling and fun, especially the better they got at it, and there was a certain kind of thrill in the game that was impossible to replicate anywhere else. The feeling of perfectly connecting with your team, head pounding with adrenaline, senses tuned to the ball, the support of your team at your back, the rush of a successful spike – there was something that tugged at his heart each time, a longing for those simpler times, when all you had to worry about were exams, games and crushes.

But it  _ felt _ meaningful, it  _ was _ meaningful, because clearly,  _ clearly _ , he carried it with him to this day. His friends, the determination to work hard.

Matsukawa, despite everything.

He carried it all in his heart, with affection and pride – and today the resentment was nowhere to be found.

  
  


He and Matsukawa had took to texting recently.

”You need to text me,” Hanamaki had said. ”Not daily but just… please respond to my messages.”

Mattsun had just nodded, and Hanamaki didn’t want to push. The peace between them was still fragile, the hurt still sore and fresh in mind.

Standing at the station, waiting for the train, Hanamaki’s arms ached again.

They parted with a shy wave, and a smile, more careful this time.

 

When Matsukawa texted him from the train (” _ Have i mentioned how much i hate teenagers these days _ ”), it was suddenly easier to breathe.

 

*

 

_ Mattsun: I hate that you were right [20.35] _

Hanamaki: about what [20.35]

_ Mattsun: Accounting is kind of boring [20.36] _

_ Mattsun: Compared to spending time with you [20.38] _

 

Hanamaki: lol [21.00]

 

Hanamaki: you forgot your towel [6.55]

_ Mattsun: Ah, hell… I’ll take it w me next time [7.02] _

Hanamaki: are you planning to come back [7.34]

Hanamaki: when i mean [7.35]

 

 _Mattsun: Probably next week_ _[12.45]_

  
  


*

 

Matsukawa was relieved to find out Misaki hadn’t changed the locks.

”Sorry for the disturbance,” he called out, and Misaki peeked in to the hallway, surprise clear in her face.

”Hello,” she said. ”I thought you left for good.”

”Not quite yet,” he said and took off his shoes. ”Where are the guest slippers?”   
”Yours are in the closet, you forgot them. Use them.”

He could feel his cheeks colouring in embarrassment – he didn’t quite know why, since Misaki knew him, and his forgetfulness.

”Do you want to eat?”

”No thank you, I ate at the station.”

”Tea?”

Matsukawa held back a sigh, knowing she wouldn’t give up until he agreed.

”Sure.”

Misaki smiled. ”Just a moment.”

 

They sat in the kitchen in silence.

Misaki had apparently bought a coffee machine in his absence – they had been talking about it for months but never really got around to it. The rice cooker looked updated as well, and Matsukawa noticed a new painting in the living room wall as well.

He was glad she seemed to be moving on; she had always been like that, headstrong and determined, able to brush off difficulties once they were thoroughly solved. She was probably the one better off in the wake of their break up, and Matsukawa was happy for her.

”So,” Misaki broke the silence, ”did you reconnect with your childhood sweetheart?”

Matsukawa blushed again, and shrugged.

”I’ll take that as a ’no’.”

”It’s complicated.”

”I’m sure it is.” Misaki sipped her tea and looked at him under her lashes.

”He’s quite angry with me.”

”I can relate,” she huffed. Matsukawa opened his mouth, but she just waved her hand. ”Don’t apologise. You’ve done enough of that lately.”

She sounded like Hanamaki, and his heart twinged.

”Have you talked with your father?”

”No,” Matsukawa confessed and leaned his chin on his hand. ”I don’t know how to even start explaining all this.”

”You’ll have to tell him eventually,” Misaki frowned. ”He keeps calling me, it’s annoying to lie to him.”

”Sorry.”

”I’m going to actually put up an apology jar for you.”

Matsukawa laughed, and she chuckled as well.

 

”You know… You look happier now,” Misaki said, setting her cup down. Her fingers ran along the rim, an old habit when she was particularly thoughtful. ”The closer we got to the wedding date, the more anxious you seemed. I thought it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, that I wasn’t enough for you. Maybe you wanted a nice, good girl as a wife and not a stubborn woman like me.” She grinned then. ”Quite funny, that. You didn’t want a girl at all.”

Matsukawa grimaced and scratched his nose in embarrassment.

 

He was grateful to Misaki – she would have been a perfect wife and a companion for the rest of his life. She was funny and intelligent, and driven in a way that made Matsukawa envy her a little. She had been surprisingly understanding about it all, and actually dumped him first.

He  _ had _ loved her, it was impossible not to, but she had known – she’d just known there was something wrong, something twisted in their relationship, and that she could do better. She was, of course, absolutely correct. Misaki had always been very smart.

He was genuinely sorry all the hurt he had caused her, and it brought him peace to see her so at comfortable with – and by – herself.

 

”Have you found an apartment yet? Or are you moving to Miyagi now?” Misaki asked as she cleaned away the mugs. Matsukawa stood up to help her, but she waved him back to his seat.

”I’m not sure yet,” he said. ”I was going to ask if Yahaba would let me stay with him for a couple days.”

”Stay here then,” Misaki said.

Matsukawa smiled.

”I’m afraid I can’t.”

Misaki wrinkled her nose and then laughed.

”Yeah, it might be a bit weird.”

”It would.”

”And your boyfriend would get mad.”

”Misaki.”

 

Her laughter was, at least, as chipper as ever.

 

*

 

With autumn, the rains came.

Chill washed over the land and the humidity snuggled into corners, and while the anticipation for winter was already in the air, it was still the season of puddles and multi-coloured leaves. It got a little bit harder to leave the comforts of bed in the morning, to set bare feet on the freezing floorboard and climb out of the cozy cocoon of blankets.

Hanamaki tripped on something and swore, regaining his balance with a loud slap of his feet and then cringed at the noise. The top of Matsukawa’s head surfaced from the ocean of blankets, a tuft of unruly curls, and then he peeled the covers enough to see what was going on.

“I tripped,” Hanamaki apologised.

Matsukawa let out an affirmative noise and went back to his slumber.

Hanamaki let him. He’d come back late last night, once again dripping wet (had he ever heard of umbrellas, this guy?) - in that moment there was a disturbing flush of déjà-vu rushing over Hanamaki’s being, and then it passed, and he let Mattsun in.

“Can I stay, again?” he had asked, as if Hanamaki could say no, and then: “I promise I’ll find an apartment soon,” as if he wasn’t here to stay.

Without a word, just a soft smile on his face, Hanamaki let him back in and closed the door behind him.

In the darkness of the bedroom Hanamaki had said:

“I have work in the morning.”

Matsukawa had nodded, half-asleep.

“I’ll cook for you,” he had promised, and Hanamaki had laughed, despite the surge of inevitable heartbreak.

“Watch that you do.”

And then Matsukawa had face-planted on the bed, and fell to deep slumber.

 

In the train Hanamaki texted Iwaizumi.

 

Hanamaki: mattsun came back last night [7.25]

_ Iwaizumi: okay? [7.26] _

_ Iwaizumi: did he say how long he’s staying this time? [7.26] _

Hanamaki: not yet [7.30]

Hanamaki: i didnt ask [7.31]

_ Iwaizumi: maybe you should [7.35] _

_ Iwaizumi: tell him i wanna see him too [7.55] _

Hanamaki: tell him your damn self you have his number [7.56]

_ Iwaizumi: i like bullying you more [7.57] _

Hanamaki: are you missing oikawa again [7.57]

_ Iwaizumi: shut up [8.01] _

_ Iwaizumi: wait are you in the train aren't you late [8.05] _

Hanamaki: yes [8.10]

 

They had a staff meeting in the morning, a meeting Hanamaki was late to (if only by 15 minutes but his boss frowned at him only a little when he apologised to her and she let it slide), so Hanamaki didn't see Matsukawa's text until later.

 

_ Mattsun: Did you know your milk has expired [8.20] _

Hanamaki: yea sorry i forgot to throw it out [9.05]

 

Hanamaki: don't tell me you drank it [9.22]

_ Mattsun: I will clean the toilet don't worry [9.39] _

 

The burst of laughter that followed earned Hanamaki another frown.

 

*

 

During the week Matsukawa had first come back to Miyagi, they had taken to daily walks in the evening, going around their old high school spots - the park they passed on the walk back to home from school, the ramen shop Oikawa had taken them to after the loss to Karasuno, and they'd even attempted to climb the stairs to the shrine up on the hill but got tired halfway and went back home.

Today they were venturing to Sendai - Matsukawa wanted to buy new shoes, having thrown away a bunch, and Hanamaki tagged along, promising to show him a new shoe shop in the shopping mall they'd visited a lot as teenagers.

"I need new sneakers," Matsukawa said, tapping his chin and scrolling on his phone with a glazed expression. Hanamaki watched him with a soft smile as the train rattled onwards, the changing scenery and the setting sun painting a beautiful picture around Matsukawa's swaying form. They were close, the train was crowded if not quite packed anymore, and every bump of their shoulders together made Hanamaki's chest feel lighter.

Mattsun looked great in his black turtleneck sweater and a light leather jacket - refined, manly, attractive as hell. He dressed well, and Hanamaki felt a little plain in his simple hoodie and jeans, but he didn't really mind at all, content with ogling his... friend, or whatever they were now.

 

Matsukawa had stayed in Tokyo longer than planned, but he kept texting daily. Pictures of the view from his office at the 17th floor of a skyscraper, selfies from a bad angle (probably on purpose and also unfairly gorgeous) during lunch break, and of course picture of his lunch each day (he seemed to eat out a lot and when Hanamaki pointed it out he got defensive, which was very cute). Most of his messages were pictures, really, he seemed to be a shy texter - something that had changed during the last four years - but Hanamaki was happy to have a window to Mattsun's everyday life. It was almost abundant, like he was trying to fill up the silence left by his absence, borderline overwhelming in his need to compensate.

Hanamaki almost wished he wouldn't - for he would miss it, when Matsukawa found a new thing to latch onto, only to leave again.

But, a part of him reminded, at least he was trying. It was unfair of Hanamaki to wait for the other shoe to drop when Mattsun tried,  _ tried _ so hard to make it up to him, to make it better.

Really, the same voice at the back of his head continued, it's you who should pick up the slack, and meet him in the middle.

 

"This is our stop," Mattsun nudged him, bringing Hanamaki back to the moment. They squeezed through the crowd at the train doors to the platform, got lost for a moment looking for the right exit and then surfaced right in front of the mall. The neon lights were shining bright in the evening, rivaling the setting sun, and a splash of warmth spread in Hanamaki's chest (and face) as Matsukawa tugged him by the elbow towards the mall entrance, his grip strong and secure, familiar. He didn't let go until they got in, and for a moment Hanamaki entertained the thought of linking their arms together and leaning to him, revel in the touch and his warmth, pretend for a moment and close his eyes.

He felt cold and alone when Matsukawa let him go, but smiled, and bumped into the other man's side hard enough that Matsukawa yelped - and then shoved back.

It was... fun; to be able to laugh like this, and the shine in Matsukawa's eyes revealed that he felt the same, like it used to be.

 

A chipper employee greeted them at the shop as they finally managed to locate it in the maze of stores and restaurants.

"Don't hesitate to ask for help," she said and they all smiled in mutual understanding that they wouldn't actually bother and thanked her.

"Should we try out the shrine again tomorrow?" Matsukawa suggested, browsing the rows of shoes. Hanamaki looked up from his phone and shrugged.

"Sure. You want to try out your new sneakers?"

"Gotta break them in some day. Might as well start tomorrow."

"...Remind me to pack blister bandaids."

"Have some faith," Mattsun huffed.

"I do," Hanamaki said, a bit too sincerely, and Matsukawa's smile was small and unbearably cute, so Hanamaki glued his eyes back to the phone screen, refusing to acknowledge the flustered flutter in his guts.  _ Not now, not ever _ , he thought, but typed himself a note that just said "BLISTERS", bolded.

 

Mattsun tried out multiple pairs and Hanamaki acted as a judge, laughing at a particularly goofy pair of shoes, and then went quiet as Matsukawa presented him with black, sleek-looking sneakers and then gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Even The Great Oikawa-san would buy those."

"Ah, now I'm having second thoughts."

Hanamaki was still snickering as Matsukawa paid for the shoes.

  
  


"Next?" Matsukawa asked as they stepped out. Hanamaki looked up at the sky and thought for a moment.

"Food?"

Matsukawa's stomach growled and they grinned.

"Sounds great."

They found a place nearby, a cozy little gyoza restaurant - the smell had them salivating already at the door. Gyoza, side dishes and beer glasses adorned their table as they said their thanks for the food and dug in, both groaning at the heavenly taste, the crispness of the gyoza and the softness of its fillings.

 

This was a date.

There was simply no other way to call it; the way Matsukawa's foot occasionally nudged his, the shy smiles they shared over the table, the fluttering in his chest that didn't seem to settle down even as the evening came to a close.

Hanamaki knew he yearned for the easy friendship they'd had before, and it was so easy to fool himself into thinking this was just that, two estranged friends reconnecting after years of separation. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder: what if he moved his hand a little, hooking their fingers together - what if he let the fleeting touches become deliberate - what if he just let himself sink in Matsukawa's eyes and be the first to break this fragile peace?

 

So instead he kept his hands to himself, but indulged in Mattsun's soft smiles, kept teasing like they always did, and didn't let himself think about it any further.

He had enough sleepless nights next to a very clingy and warm man even without this nonsense.

 

*

 

"I," Hanamaki declared with a heave, "am going to die."

"Don't be so dramatic," Matsukawa said, panting a little himself. "We're so close."

"Just finish before me."

"No, we're finishing together."

"Mattsun, please..."

"C'mon, keep walking, almost there," Matsukawa grinned and slapped Hanamaki's shoulder. "Just... maybe a hundred steps left?" He couldn't quite see the torii gate of the temple yet, so his estimate was just a hazardous guess.

"Did I just imagine this being easier?" Hanamaki groaned. "When we were in high school this didn't feel bad at all. What happened? Are we old?"

"Yes. Stop complaining and let's climb."

"You spend too much time with Iwaizumi."

"You know I don't," Matsukawa chuckled. "He'd eat me alive and then nag at my corpse."

Hanamaki probably would have laughed if he were able to spare a breath for it.

 

They'd started out hopeful at the bottom of the stairs in the morning, their goal being to reach the top before lunchtime and then go back and eat something.

The reality, however, seemed to be a late lunch at most. Matsukawa was thankful he had packed some snacks with them, despite Hanamaki reassuring the wouldn't need them.

"It's terrible not being a teenager anymore." Hanamaki sounded pathetic.

"Shut up and climb," Matsukawa said and kept going. He heard Hanamaki mumbling something about murder and vengeance, and it just made his grin stretch even wider.

The stairs were slippery with wet fallen leaves, and they made their way up carefully, not to sprain anything on the top of the (excruciating, Hanamaki would undoubtedly add) physical strain. The trees were a kaleidoscope of colour, the wind teasing the coloured leaves in a leisurely dance of reds, yellows, greens - and oranges.

"I wonder how the Karasuno twerp is doing," Matsukawa mused out loud.

Hanamaki tried to answer, heaved deep, swallowed, and tried again:

"They should be in university now, right? I think Iwaizumi keeps tabs on Kageyama. Could," and then he took a moment to cough, "Could always ask him."

"I kind of miss that freaky quick of theirs."

"You don't mean that."

"Of course not." He hummed and watched the leaves twirling in the wind. "It just makes me nostalgic."

 

They arrived to the top of the stairs - Hanamaki letting out a long sigh of relief at the sight of the big red torii gate - and the shrine sat there in the middle of multi-coloured leaves swirling down from the surrounding trees. They were alone; the shrine was empty. On the yard in front of the shrine building were multiple benches to sit on, and a  _ temizuya _ pavilion with water-filled basins for purification. It was all very serene, and quiet, just the sound of running water in their ears.

Hanamaki plopped down on the nearest bench and leaned backwards on his hands, trying to even out his breath.

"Was it really that rough," Matsukawa snickered, sitting next to him. Hanamaki stared up at the blue sky, blinking slowly.

"I think I can see the light, Mattsun."

"Walk towards it."

 

Matsukawa handed him a bottle of water and they drank and ate their small snacks there, sitting mostly in silence. Hanamaki munched on chips, his jaws working lazily, and Matsukawa couldn't help but keep watching him, with deep fascination and, perhaps, a little hint of warmth oozing from his chest throughout his body.

He had been looking at apartments from Miyagi. He knew he couldn't stay in Tokyo - not now, not anymore. Hanamaki was staying here, Hanamaki drew him back here over and over again. He had thought that he could just go - that he could shake off the past and his family as he left, but he hadn't calculated in one complication, one tiny thing, and that was being still, after all this time, hopelessly and completely in love with Hanamaki Takahiro.

 

And so it was; and so it had been; and he didn't know if he was too late with that realization already. He hadn't told Hanamaki yet, was uncertain what his reaction would be. Perhaps relief - there was still an edge there, every time he hopped on the train back to Tokyo, a certain gleam in Hanamaki's eyes that he waited for Matsukawa to not come back, to disappear again.

Each time that expression battered his heart with a pang of regret and shame.

 

"You know," he said, without really realizing he had already opened his mouth. Hanamaki turned to look at him and a flash of panic went through his brain. It was too late to go back, knowing Hanamaki he would never let it go.

Matsukawa cleared his throat, putting down his water bottle, and laced his fingers.

"You know I didn't mean to leave you like that? That... That wasn't the reason I left. You know that right?"

Hanamaki's breath audibly hitched.

 

Matsukawa could see how his entire body tensed and withered in itself like a protective cocooning shield.

"We don't have to talk about it." Hanamaki's voice was weak, and vulnerable. Matsukawa swallowed, biting his lip.

"I just want to explain. Can I?"

He hoped his desperation came through. Hanamaki grimaced and then huffed, plastering an achingly fake grin on his face. "Well, hit me then."

 

"You know my parents divorced right before we graduated."

"Yeah, you mentioned it," Hanamaki said, furrowing his brows, clearly uncertain how this was connected to the matter at hand, but Matsukawa hoped Hanamaki would be patient. He could be, incredibly so, when he wanted.

"Did you hear the reason why?"

Hanamaki shook his head.

Matsukawa paused for a moment, thinking. Then he opened his mouth:

"My mom had been cheating on my dad for a better of two years. She just said it. In the dinner table. And that she was leaving."

 

Hanamaki's eyes widened, his breath catching.

"Holy shit, Issei--"

"I... I asked her not to go," Matsukawa willed his voice to stay normal. "To consider? But she just decided that it was better to humiliate dad right in our faces."

  
  


The dinner that day, he still remembered it in great detail. Miso-soup, rice, tempura, some salad. The tempura had been store-bought. The smell of deep fried shrimp still made his head hurt. He never made miso soup with bean sprouts again.

He remembered, he had been mid-chew, and suddenly, all at once, the food turned stale in his mouth right as a burning block of ice settled at the bottom of his stomach. His mother's stern expression, his father's shocked silence and the sound of chopsticks clattering on the table as father's grip slipped.

And then the shouting started.

His father had never been loud; he had always been calm, and collected, held back but warm smiles; his mother was proper, and her hugs were soft; and there he was, the good son, in the middle, as his father suddenly threw the plate of tempura off the table and mother jumped up from her chair, _what the hell are you doing_ , his father's hysterical and incredulous laughter, _what the hell am i_ _doing, you have the nerve to ask_ , and Matsukawa just sat there, completely still, as coldness slowly crawled across his skin, numbing his nerves.

And then, he sat up, took his plate to the kitchen and went to his room.

Shut the door.

Climbed in bed.

And closed his eyes.

 

*

 

The fast food restaurant around them was loud but their meal was quiet. 

Hanamaki chewed the burger as Mattsun destroyed both of their large fries. Between bites Mattsun filled him in, even if Hanamaki, selfishly, kind of wanted him to stop.

But this was important. This was important to hear. So he ate, and listened, and ignored the tightness in his throat.

"Dad took it badly."

"I don't blame him."

Matsukawa shrugged. "It was rough for him. The word spread, and neighbours started being nosy."

"Nosier, I guess."

"Really fucking rude, honestly." Matsukawa bit the inside of his cheek and his eyes narrowed. "It wasn't like it was our fault that mom left. I don't know why everyone felt the need to imply it was."

Hanamaki wrinkled his nose. "I hope they rot."

The burger joint was starting to get busy, more and more customers trickling in and Hanamaki wondered if they should move this conversation to somewhere else.

"He caught us kissing once."

Hanamaki choked on his hamburger.

 

He coughed and took a sip of his coke, and then stared at Mattsun.

"He did what?"

"We got caught. Or, well I got."

His heart was pounding fast and painful in his chest as it dawned on him what exactly that meant.

 

Then there was anger.

"What the fuck."

"He got really mad.

"I... I figured, but... What the hell, Mattsun. I mean, fuck," Hanamaki ran a hand through his hair. "When?"

"The day after graduation."

 

The day after graduation. That day, that day when they had met up with knowing smiles and Mattsun had pulled him in the empty house with purpose.

The backyard garden had always been beautiful to Hanamaki and that day it grew in his eyes, the greens and the bright explosions of flowers, of colours and stars in his eyes when Mattsun dragged him close and closed the distance.

Mattsun's mouth had been soft, passing his affection like warm honey on his lips and Hanamaki had felt like floating, his feet off the ground and soul soaring in the skies, and Matsukawa's hands were warm and sure on his hips, and they had laughed in each others' faces, foreheads pressed together in the shade of the plum tree towering over the garden, love dripping nectar on his skin.

 

Tainted.

Mudded.

 

Matsukawa met his eyes, and Hanamaki knew, it was there in his heart too -  _ how dare _ , how dare they drag it out in the open, their secret; how dare they bare their young raw hearts like that.

 

"I see."

He did; he understood; Miyagi was a different world from Tokyo. They'd been careful, they'd only told Oikawa and Iwaizumi, knees shaking as they held hands in the empty locker room and waiting for the widened eyes (and immensely relieved when there were smiles instead, congratulations and laughter).

  
  


Matsukawa humbly obliged when he changed the subject.

The walk home was amicable, darkness creeping across the clouds as they trekked the familiar streets.

In the dark, as the sky started to drizzle down, the street lights dim and the asphalt road waiting the shine of rain from above, Hanamaki reached out his hand.

Matsukawa, glancing down, stilled for a moment, his step halting for a moment and Hanamaki's heart beat with heavy anticipation. Without looking back, he turned his palm, just an inch, towards him, a wordless plea; and then, a step, two, fingertips brushing and with a shuddering breath Matsukawa slid his fingers up, grazed his wrist, and finally,  _ finally _ , their fingers laced together, twining as if pulled tight by a red string of fate, and there, there there there was home.

Between their fingers a place for his heart to rest.

 

*

 

"I'm sorry."

At night, Matsukawa finally touched him, and pulled him close, his breath warm against Hanamaki's neck.

"I'm  _ so _ sorry."

His lips were burning hot against his skin and Hanamaki let out a sigh, his hand sliding in Mattsun's hair.

"I'm sorr--"

"Shh," Hanamaki hushed and pressed his back flush to Matsukawa's chest, and he cherished Mattsun's shaky exhale.

"Takahiro, I--"

"Shh," Hanamaki repeated, grinding his body against Matsukawa's and swallowing a moan as Matsukawa's arms closed around him, his hand sneaking down his abdomen, his happy trail, down in his pyjama pants, stretching the fabric and taking him in his fist.

 

Hanamaki held on for dear life, moaning when Mattsun bit his skin and then sucked a mark in its place, as he sunk back to familiarity and warmth and heat and the longing to be closer, even closer; and as he turned and seeked out Mattsun's lips it was homecoming, Mattsun's touch a benediction, and he ached to be in another time and place just like this.

He'd make this a new memory, something no one could taint. Matsukawa's tongue glided against his in a desperate, deep kiss, it was exploration and relearning and claiming and a promise, that this time, this time it would be for good, and Hanamaki could only hope.

 

Only hope, only trust,

 

and so he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated~
> 
> twitter [@wildkitte](https://twitter.com/wildkitte)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos and a comment if you'd like!
> 
> twitter [@wildkitte](https://twitter.com/wildkitte)  
> \- come say hi!!!


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